Stadium Arcadium
by GaladrielGirl
Summary: Oliver's life has been constant since leaving Hogwarts: Quidditch, no love life, more Quidditch, take-out every night, and Quidditch. Upon entering a foreign land for an away match, he sees someone who upsets the balance.


**AN: I finally found this story! I had posted this over on my HPFF account years ago (relatively closer to when Stadium Arcadium actually came out), and have been meaning to post this as soon as I found it. General disclaimer: the Harry Potter world and this wonderful Red Hot Chili Peppers song do not belong to me, the average college student.**

**Stadium Arcadium**

We had just arrived in the city. After check in at the hotel, the team went our separate ways: mainly to the closest pub. I, unlike my comrades, went down the small street out the back entrance, until I reached my destination: The Cathedral of SS Peter and Paul. Nearing midnight, I had hoped that the cathedral was still open.

_Bells around St. Petersburg_

_When I saw you_

It can't have been. The last time I saw you, we were fighting for our lives, at the Battle of Hogwarts. The last words we said to each other. The last time we laughed. The last time all seven of us were together. If I look back, and really think about it, it makes perfect sense for you to leave after Fred's death. You helped everyone cope. Like the mum of the group, you were. So compassionate.

_I hope I get what you deserve_

_And this is where I find_

Looking around the near vacant streets, I realize I should have slept some more the past week. I was hallucinating. That must be it. No possible reason why you would travel to Russia to escape. Unless you remembered my comment at the party last winter.

_Smoke surrounds your perfect face_

_And I'm falling_

I have no plausible idea why I fell upon entering the flat. Fred used to joke that my marvelous keeping talent did nothing to my balancing skills. I used to tell him to shove it. I wish I hadn't. I know I am not the only one feeling that way. Alicia reports that George is starting to recover. I would have expected he'd have finished this faze by August, but at least he doesn't sit out at the grave anymore. I look up at the closed cathedral doors, promising to return before our match. Feeling a numbing sensation in the base of my head, I rushed back to the hotel, where I promptly passed out on the bed.

_Pushin a broom out into space_

_And this is where I find a way_

Flying to the left goal post at breakneck speeds, the quaffle barely changes course, as I swing my legs off, similar to a football kick. The score being tight, I had to risk my neck for that ball, or Coach Livingston will have me doing ten laps of the pitch every day for the following month. No matter the pain now, the gain will come double in time. That motto of coach's led to Anikee tearing her ACL last fall, and many visits to the team healer over the past season. Oh, I think Whisp caught the snitch. As I start descending form my goalposts, my mind wanders.

_The stadium arcadium_

_A mirror to the moon_

_I'm forming I'm warming_

_State of the art_

_Until the clouds come crashing_

The street behind the stadium is near empty by the time I emerge, leaving time for me to enjoy the lovely buildings and such. I never realized how many similarities Russia and England hold. Same type of stores, similar foods, same Katie Bell in the Café on the corner. Katie. Bell. I turn back, to see an empty spot, where I had seen my favourite Gryffindor chaser. I decide not to dwell on the matter, and head into a dark alley, to apparate to the cathedral, for I have sinned. I had promised myself not to think about her. I did. Maybe an exorcism to remove the demon that torments my soul. It would be nice to revel in a peaceful day, without thoughts of her.

_Stranger things have happened_

_Both before and after noon_

_I'm forming I'm warming_

_Pushing myself_

_And no I don't mind asking_

_Now_

The priest said that I had no troubles, just a forlorn love. Like that isn't a trouble. I can't eat, I haven't actually slept in days, and the anti-depressants barely keep me going on. Why can't she just walk through that door, as if no time passed? Continuous torture for six months is enough, I'd say. I hear a faint sound of rain, but nothing matters, except the memories. The times we would sit in the common room, after practice, just to talk. Quidditch. The game tomorrow. The clock reads 3:19 in the morning, and with nothing but memories to cloud my dreams, I definitely won't be able to sleep.

_Alone inside my forest room_

_And it's storming_

The sleeping pills helped moderately, but now, I have that overwhelming feeling of drowsiness fogging my mind. It can't be drowsiness. The images running through are memories of the two of us. Splashing in the Black Lake. Trading gifts at Yule time.

_I never thought I'd be in bloom_

_But this is where I start_

Jumping from the common room window to go flying. Game. I can't possibly play like this. I need more medication. I already had loads of pills, but another two can't hurt me. They probably have worn off by now. Warm-ups in half an hour. Where is my broom? The uniform was hanging on the couch. Why is my broom on the television set? Must leave.

_Derelict days and the stereo plays_

_For the all night crowd_

_That it cannot phase_

_And I'm calling_

The music played in the stadium, as the players warm-up blasts loudly from the left, giving me a slight headache. The dull throbbing continues, as Livingston gives the usual pep-talk: fight, win, and damn near play the best game you sorry sods will ever dream of. It's all in good jest, of course, but the resounding yell from my teammates tells me something happened at the pub last night. Not my business, anyway.

_Tedious weeds that the media breeds_

_But the animal gets what the animal needs_

_And I'm sorry_

The names are called out. The same old names, for a game like any other, only the team changes. I don't even know whom we are playing most nowadays. I just listen for my name, and fly to the goal posts, sporting my 'stoic' look [the media title].

_And this is where I find_

The game is like any other, except the dull pounding has persisted, along with frequent flashes of black. Not long flashes, but long enough for the other team to attempt to put one through. They haven't succeeded, and the score stands 70-0 in our favour. As I watch the quaffle travel down the pitch, I see her.

_Rays of dust that wrap around_

_Your citizen_

The light shimmers down, glinting off her hair, creating that angelic look, I often mocked. She glances over here, and looks on in fright. As I looked at her, I had not noticed the flickering of black at the edges of my vision, nor my room leaving me. As I fell, the fright turned to a look of anguish, as she ran down the stadium steps to reach the field.

_Kind enough to disavow_

_And this is where I stand_

When I woke up in St. Catherine's Hospital, the first thing I saw was her face. She promised to never leave me. Apparently, I am an idiot for taking four sleeping pills in conjunction with 21 anti-depressants. She still loved me though, so, I think the medication might be thrown out tomorrow. Everyone was worried sick. What matters most is that I know where I stand with her, my angelic goddess. My partner in crime. My shoulder to cry on. My one, my only, my Katie Bell.


End file.
